The song lyrics were written by the band Van Halen, as they were asked to write a song for the 1979 movie "Over the Edge" starring Matt Dillon. The movie (and the lyrics, although more obliquely) are about bored, rebellious youth with nothing better to do than get into trouble. If you see the movie, these lyrics will make more sense. It's a great movie if you grew up in the 70s/80s you'll definitely remember some of these characters from your own life. Fun fact, after writing the song, Van Halen decided not to let the movie use it.
Live from Bedford-Stuyvesant, the livest one representing BK to the fullest
Bastards ducking when Hov be buckin', chicken heads be cluckin', uh
Back when ratchet was a ratchet and the vixen was a vixen and Jam Master Jay was alive, I was mixing
Cooking coke in the kitchen back when Rodman was a Piston
Mike was losing to Isiah but he soon would get his sixth one
Gave birth to my verbal imagination, assume a virtue if you have not
Or better yet here's a verse from Hamlet
"Lord, we know who we are
Yet we know not what we may be"
So maybe I'm the one or maybe I'm crazy
I'm from Marcy houses where the boys die by the thousand
Back when Pam was on Martin yeah that's where it all started
When Denzel was blottin' carpet, I'll pack a nine millimeter when Slick Rick made Mona Lisa
When Lisa Bonet was Beyoncé of her day, I had divas ya'll
Think I just popped up in this bitch like a fetus? Nah
Pregnant pause, give you some second thoughts
There's room on the bandwagon, don't abort
Marcy me
Marcy me
Streets is my artery, the vein of my existence
I'm the Gotham City heartbeat
I started in lobbies now, parley with Saudis
Sufi to the goofies I could probably speak Farsi
That's poetry read a coca leaf from my past
Came through the bushes smelling like roses I need a trophy just for that
Old Brooklyn not this new shit, shit feel like a spoof
Fat laces in your shoe I'm talking busting off the roof
Hold a uzi vertical, let the thing smoke
Y'all flirting with death, I be winking through the scope
Shout out to all the murderers turned murals, plural, fuck the Federal Bureau
Shout out to Nostrand Ave, Flushing Ave, Myrtle
All the County of Kings, may your ground stay fertile
Shout out to Big Poppa, Daddy Kane, heroes
Thus concluding my concerto, Marcy me
Must be in the air, oh can't walk away I know, I know
Just the way I was raised I know, I know, I know
Oh Marcy, Marcy me just the way I am, always gonna be
I ain't gonna change, no
Marcy, Marcy me, just the way I am
I know, I know, I ain't gonna change, no
(Como as minhas mueos tocando aqui
Eu nuo canto do mundo, o meu tempo)
Bastards ducking when Hov be buckin', chicken heads be cluckin', uh
Back when ratchet was a ratchet and the vixen was a vixen and Jam Master Jay was alive, I was mixing
Cooking coke in the kitchen back when Rodman was a Piston
Mike was losing to Isiah but he soon would get his sixth one
Gave birth to my verbal imagination, assume a virtue if you have not
Or better yet here's a verse from Hamlet
"Lord, we know who we are
Yet we know not what we may be"
So maybe I'm the one or maybe I'm crazy
I'm from Marcy houses where the boys die by the thousand
Back when Pam was on Martin yeah that's where it all started
When Denzel was blottin' carpet, I'll pack a nine millimeter when Slick Rick made Mona Lisa
When Lisa Bonet was Beyoncé of her day, I had divas ya'll
Think I just popped up in this bitch like a fetus? Nah
Pregnant pause, give you some second thoughts
There's room on the bandwagon, don't abort
Marcy me
Marcy me
Streets is my artery, the vein of my existence
I'm the Gotham City heartbeat
I started in lobbies now, parley with Saudis
Sufi to the goofies I could probably speak Farsi
That's poetry read a coca leaf from my past
Came through the bushes smelling like roses I need a trophy just for that
Old Brooklyn not this new shit, shit feel like a spoof
Fat laces in your shoe I'm talking busting off the roof
Hold a uzi vertical, let the thing smoke
Y'all flirting with death, I be winking through the scope
Shout out to all the murderers turned murals, plural, fuck the Federal Bureau
Shout out to Nostrand Ave, Flushing Ave, Myrtle
All the County of Kings, may your ground stay fertile
Shout out to Big Poppa, Daddy Kane, heroes
Thus concluding my concerto, Marcy me
Must be in the air, oh can't walk away I know, I know
Just the way I was raised I know, I know, I know
Oh Marcy, Marcy me just the way I am, always gonna be
I ain't gonna change, no
Marcy, Marcy me, just the way I am
I know, I know, I ain't gonna change, no
(Como as minhas mueos tocando aqui
Eu nuo canto do mundo, o meu tempo)
Lyrics submitted by Mellow_Harsher
Marcy Me Lyrics as written by Ernest Dion Wilson Antonio Jose Correia Brito
Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
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